Fallen
by SamCole
Summary: A collection of one-shot songfics from Evanescence's first album, 'Fallen' ratings PG-M. Some graphic content, dub-con, non-con, Wincest, and fluff. Ratings and warnings for each chapter inside. All Sam/Dean, but mentions of other things.
1. Going Under

_**Author's Note: So, I was given the idea by a lovely writer LeighAnnWallace to write a song fic by Evanescence, then got the idea, hey, why not work my way through her albums, oldest to newest, one song at a time. So, we will be starting with the album Fallen, on which the first track is Going Under, so get ready guys, here it comes.**_

_**Rating: M, mentions of torture, sex, non-con, dub-con and incest.**_

_**Pairing: Sam/Dean, mentions of Lucifer/Sam rape, not your thing, skip to the next one. :D**_

_**Going Under**_

Sam was afraid to be touched after he remembered everything that happened to him in Hell. Dean didn't notice at first, because he was the exception. Once Sam remembered he'd curl up next to Dean after sex and Dean would fall asleep staring at the top of Sam's head, not aware that Sam would not sleep, would go days without it in fact just because of the nightmares.

Nightmares of Lucifer's hands, everywhere, touching him, burning him, ripping away his flesh with a sound so sick and repulsive that nothing else could describe it. Then he'd dig at his fleshless body with knives and fire, and Sam could only cry tears of blood that hurt him even more, as he was without eyelids.

Then, just as he thought he was going to die, his skin would be replaced and the cycle would repeat itself in a far too vicious manor until Lucifer got sick of it and moved on to some different form of torture. The only breaks Sam got where the moments when Lucifer would move on to fight with Michael for a bit, and even Michael was no Angel. He too took several blows at Adam, who was not in a very good position (because he too, was in Hell) but at least, for Adams sake, he was not as horrid as Lucifer, who amused himself with endless forms of torture and the sickest little games. Sam had to say his one of least favorite 'games' involved the Angel, wearing either his or Nick's flesh, touching him.

His fingers were not hot, not like Sam's body that always seemed to be melting, like his raw throat that had screamed until it could make not another noise. Lucifer's body was a painful, stark contrast, like ice on a bad burn, and he knew no boundaries. His mouth was merciless, tearing kisses from his bleeding lips, nails digging marks into his back, and, all too soon, cock up his ass, ruining what was left of him from the inside out until there was no part of Sam left untouched by the frigidness that was Lucifer.

And Sam, Sam couldn't take it, it was too much. It always hurt; there was never relief, no rest. No, Sam was never given a moment of true peace. There were times however, when Sam would close his eyes, open them and see Dean, standing over him, then hugging him, and at first Sam though _I'm free,_ but his skin would burn and ache, like he'd just spent days in the sun, and he'd cry. Dean would kiss away his tears, and then whisper something, something like, "I got you," and Sam would kiss him, need him to chase away the pain.

And always, somewhere along the way, Dean's face would melt into Lucifer's, and then Sam would sob and beg for Lucifer to stop, because that was the last straw. Lucifer could burn him, beat him, stab him, kill him over and over again but he could not take that away, not the image of Dean, his brother, he could not ruin that for him too. It was too much.

Shook his head, chasing away the memories and looked at Dean, sure he was free from Hell. He touch his cheek, traced over his body, allow his fingers to touch each scar, every bump and bruise and remind himself _this is real_ until it was a constant mantra in his head, because he needed to believe it.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean murmured, waking slowly from Sam's gentle touches. He looked at his brother, bags under his eyes, then at the clock. He frowned, turning back to him. "It's 5 in the morning, didn't you sleep?"

"Yes," Sam lied instantly, and Dean gave him a withering stare in response, making Sam back track. "No."

"Oh Sammy," Dean whispered, burying his face in Sam's hair and holding him tightly. Dean didn't do it a lot, it was a great deal of emotion for him to display, and even though he loved Sam, it was hard for him. Sam knew this, which is why he savored every touch.

Because he believed it was real, believed that this was his Dean. He savored these touches because it was his brother, and he loved him, not because he feared he was going to wake up, hooks and chains everywhere and Lucifer's ice-touch scorching his melting flesh.

"If you don't get more sleep Sam, you'll get sloppy and get yourself killed," Dean spoke in an easy tone; he could not hide the underlying concern that had been drilled into his head since he was four though. Sam was his job, Sam needed him, he was responsible for Sam, and right now Sam needed him more than he ever had before, and Dean knew that.

Sam nodded, and Dean studied him, still tired but more worried than anything. Sam; he was so hard to understand to Dean, and he hadn't always been. Dean wondered in silence what Sam was thinking, what he was seeing, remembering, feeling. He always wanted to ask him, but he didn't want Sam to spiral out of control, to lose what little grip he had on his sanity and slip away into nothing, or worse, put a gun to his head and pull the trigger.

Dean's grip tightened around Sam and Sam placed soft kisses on his chest, trying to chase away whatever worry Dean was feeling. This was his problem, he was crazy, and he refused to burden Dean. Maybe that's why he didn't sleep, not because of fear, not because of nightmares, but maybe, some deep subconscious part of him wanted to get sloppy, wanted to slip and die at the hands of some monster or spirit, because maybe, just maybe some small part of him believed that this was all a game, and as soon as he died, he'd wake up, and Lucifer would tear him up again, and that would break everything that was left of Sam.

"Sammy," Dean whispered, kissing the top of his head and tracing over Sam' bare back. He could feel his muscles, coiled and ready under his tan flesh, he knew Sam wasn't relaxed, knew he was scared and needed Dean, that he needed to know this was real. "Sam," he whispered again, and this time, Sam looked up.

"Hm?" He asked, and Dean could see it in his eyes, the wild fear, the desperation, the exhaustion, and the billion other things that haunted Sam. But Dean saw love in those hazel orbs too, and that was what he needed to feed, that small fire that was keeping Sam's sanity alive.

"It's okay to sleep. Nothing is going to happen, okay?" Dean said, tone soft, but firm, and for a moment Sam looked panicked. Dean kissed his forehead, then his eyelids, his cheeks, jaws, every inch of his face until he went lax and then, Dean kissed his lips. "I got you, Sam."

Sam studied him, scared, concerned, fretting and desperate for the truth, because that's what he needed, the truth. He closed his eyes, sighing deeply and allowing his head to fall to Dean's chest. Trust. He needed to trust Dean, because that was all he could do, so with reluctance, he nodded, allowing himself to slowly drift off.

"Goodnight, Sam," Dean whispered into his hair.

And Sam smiled, pretending not to hear when Lucifer purred from his place in the corner of the room, "See you in the morning."


	2. Bring Me to Life

_**Author's Note: Second fic, based off the song Bring Me to Life by Evanescence, the second track on the album, Fallen. Kind of a continuation of the first chapter? Though these are not all connected, more so a group of one or two-shots. Doesn't follow the show to the letter. Why? Because fuck you, that's why. Creative liberties or whatever.**_

_**Rating: M, for Wincest.**_

_**Bring Me to Life**_

Sam held Dean's gaze, there face inches apart, their breath heavy in the air, the only sound that could be heard in the empty warehouse. Lucifer was gone. Maybe not for good and maybe Sam's hand hurt like a bitch, but Lucifer was gone. Sam closed the space between them, slamming his lips against Dean's in a near violent force. Dean dropped his gun, hands fisting in Sam's hair and pulling him closer. He was an animal, both of them were really. Desperate for each other, needing to know that they weren't going to going to disappear on each other.

Dean could have broke down crying right there. Not Sam, not his baby brother, his Sammy. He couldn't think anything else, just that this couldn't be happening to _Sam_ because Sam _didn't deserve it._ Damn it, why? Sam waving a gun around, shooting at him, threatening to kill himself, Dean wouldn't be able to handle it if Sam buried a bullet in his skull.

Sam whined when Dean pulled away, fucking _whined_ in that brief moment of panic. The Dean was leading him to the Impala, popping open the trunk and fishing out bandages. Sam kept trying to kiss him, whimpering and murmuring his need and Dean would hush him with gentle kisses, tell him to wait till he made sure his hand was okay. Sam didn't need to make sure his hand was okay, he _needed_ Dean.

But then again, putting Sam's health first was a very Dean thing to do and only reassured Sam that everything was real, so Sam settled for the little kisses until Dean had finished bandaging his hand once more.

"Please," Sam whispered against his lips and Dean frowned.

"Sam, maybe we should wait to keep going," Dean replied, tone gentle but concerned against his lips because he would not be a horrible big brother and use Sam, or sleep with him while he was in a vulnerable state. No, that was wrong.

"Dean, I need this. Show me I'm alive," Sam whispered.

Dean didn't need any more incentive, years of deep buried longing were too much, the big brother instinct told him this was what Sam needed, and when he could find no other reason to deny Sam, he caved and they piled into the back seat of the Impala, it was a tight fit, and Sam had to damn near double over to straddle Dean's hips and _not _hit the ceiling.

Sam kissed him, and when Dean's lips parted, forcing his tongue into the wet heat that was Sam's mouth, Sam felt himself melt, felt layers of ice become hot liquid, felt as though he was _living_ again. He panted softly against Dean's lips as they kissed with renewed fever, Sam's hands were everywhere, pulling and tearing at Dean's clothes in a desperate need to _feel_ every inch of flesh, to _touch_ every scar, every bruise, all these little things that Sam needed to confirm just to know this was _his_ Dean.

"Sammy," Dean hissed, nipping Sam's plump, kiss-swollen lower lip gently, suckling softly earning a moan from Sam. "Relax."

Sam couldn't relax, not when he was living for the first time in what felt like so long. Damn Hell. Everything before Hell felt lifetimes away, not just a year, so long ago yet not long at all. It only added another layer of insanity to the craziness that was slowly beginning to define the youngest Winchester. He kissed his neck, grabbed Dean's hands and moved them from his waist to his ass, then whispered in his elder brother's ear, "I need you _now_."

Oh yes, it was totally un-Sam, needing, begging, desperate, and maybe that was what got Dean off the most, knowing Sam needed him more than he needed air.

"Okay Sammy, s'okay. I got you," Dean huffed, hands trying to pry off Sam's pants. His only regret when he finally peeled them off (which involved a lot of moving around on both parts before they could resume their original position) was that he had no lube to properly prep Sam. Sam was working Dean's belt, fighting Dean's pants free from its hold when Dean pressed his fingers to Sam's lips.

"Don't have any lube Sam," he panted and Sam nodded, taking Dean's calloused fingers into his mouth and working wonders over them with his tongue. Dean groaned and was blissfully unaware, so much so that he hadn't noticed that Sam hand managed to open up his pants, pry Dean's member from the slit in his boxers and had started to work him to full hardness, well he hadn't noticed _until_ that point anyway. Sam worked him with lazy strokes, only getting him hard before pulling his lips off of Dean's digits and canting his hips forward a little.

"Please," he huffed into Dean's ear, and how the Hell was Dean supposed to say no.

Dean's first finger slid in easy, and Sam was more than relieved. There was no pain, just pressure as Dean worked his finger into him. Sam groaned, low and pleased, lips suckling Dean's neck as Dean slid the finger in and out, his hand matching Dean's rhythm as it caressed his cock.

Dean groaned too, because fuck Sam was so tight and he was touching his cock and _why_ had they waited so long to do this. They had been in each other's lives for as long as either could really remember, they had been accused of being a couple for so long, and for some reason they had never given any thought to what was right in front of them.

Sam exhaled sharply as Dean pushed a second finger into him, it burned, but it was mild and after several massaging seconds later Dean had worked him open to a point where there was no burn and was searching for his prostate. Sam wasn't sure when he had started fucking himself back on Dean's fingers, but he didn't care. In that moment all he knew was Dean, and that he was alive. Hell, he didn't think there was ever a moment in his entire existence when he felt more alive, it was like everything before now, before this intimacy, before this _love_ was a lie that he had been living.

"Dean," he moaned out loudly when Dean's fingers brushed against something inside of him. Some part of him that hadn't been clouded with lust and longing told him it was his prostate, but the rest of him just wanted more of that feeling.

Dean worked in a third and final finger and Sam whined in pain. Dean kissed his shoulders as Sam's hands shot up to grip Dean's open shirt and jacket, fisting tightly against the pain as he buried his face in Dean's neck.

"Hurts" he panted.

"Give it a second," Dean whispered, waiting for Sam's tensed muscles to relax around him before he began twisting and thrusting again. It only took a few minutes to find Sam's prostate again, which had Sam all but sobbing with pleasure as he fucked himself back on Dean's fingers.

Sam grabbed Dean's arm, pulling his hand away and positioning himself over Dean's leaking cock. He had to stoop over him slightly to keep his head from hitting the ceiling, but he managed as he slowly lowered himself down on his brother, whimpering and stilling every time there was a bit of pain, before relaxing, moaning and pushing himself down for more.

Dean was about to go crazy by the time Sam was fully seated on his cock. Sam was impossibly tight and hot, far better than anything Dean had ever felt before, and it took every ounce of his control not to slam his hips up into Sam, to get him moving.

He didn't have to wait long, after a few moments of adjusting Sam lifted himself up and dropped back down onto Dean's cock. They moaned together and that was it. Sam instantly set a hard fast pace, both of them moving their hips in a near violent manor, shaking the Impala, their breathy pants fogging up the windows. Dean wasn't going to last, and he wasn't sure why. He could last for hours if he wanted too, but at the mercy of Sam's hot ass, he could hardly last fifteen minutes. His body was on fire, and he began angling his hips, looking for Sam's prostate once more.

Sam dropped down and Dean's cock hit his prostate dead on, making him cry out with pleasure. Their lips found one another's, and they kissed, open-mouthed, moaning and hot as they raced toward their orgasms.

Sam came first, half-sobbing, half-moaning Dean's name, tightening around him and, a few thrusts later, Dean came too and Sam had never felt anything like it. Dean's seed, filling him from the inside, a personal, warm heat that made Sam shudder.

They lay there for several minutes, Sam bent over on top Dean, Dean firmly sandwiched between Sam and the seat of them Impala, before Sam sighed and kissed Dean's neck, whispering a hoarse, "Thank you," into his ear.

They got dressed quietly and climbed into the front seat, Dean turned on the Impala opened up his window, allowing the car's windows to defog and the scent of sex to escape before he looked at Sam and gripped his hand.

"I, you know, I love you," he said, and Sam could tell it was hard. Confirmations of love had always been a rare thing in their family, and giving them even harder.

Sam smiled, soft and tired, and nodded. "I know. I love you too."

Dean smiled, Sam relaxed and for the first time in a long time, Sam and Dean Winchester were alive and home, if only for a moment.


	3. Everybody's Fool

_**Author's Note: Hey look, Chapter 3, based off the song Everybody's Fool. I was initially torn with making a chapter where it is all AU, then decided, to Hell, I can make this fit the current world of Supernatural with some effort and a little bit of a personal twist. And yeah, I've noticed that Lucifer is in them, but Evanescence's song have such a haunting feel, and Lucifer is the best at haunting Sam Winchester, along with other ghosts of his past.**_

_**Rating: T, mentions of dark subjects including blood drinking, soulless!Sammy, a tormenting Lucifer and character death, so yeah, major angst alert!**_

_**Everybody's Fool**_

Sam groaned as he pushed himself to his feet, his shoulder crying out with agony as he scooped up the iron crowbar and tossed it at the ghost of Martin Chase, a guy who had been killed by his son and had been haunting 'bad children' in Upstate South Carolina ever since. The ghost dissipated, but not for long, and Sam knew this. He just needed to buy Dean some time to roast the corpse. He scooped up the crowbar again and turned to go find Dean, only to run into a kick in the chest from the pissed off ghost.

Sam went flying and promptly smashed through the rotting dry wall of the dead dude's old house. Now _that _hurt. Black dots surged his vision, and it took every ounce of Sam's shattered will to stand up and challenge the spirit. Bad idea since he had lost the crowbar.

Martin was on him in a flash, corpsified hand gripping his throat and lifting him off the ground. His eyes narrowed, hate raged in his dead, glacial blue-white eyes. "Murderer," he hissed, and Sam knew it was true.

He fought against the grip, but knew he wouldn't win. Black danced across his vision, and this time it was from lack of oxygen. He clawed at the spirit's arm to no avail, desperate for a gasp of air into his aching lungs. _Dean, hurry, _he thought desperately.

When the spirit dropped him and burst into flames, Sam was already in a semi-unconscious state. The rush of air and the smack of the floor against his injured shoulder, accompanied by the scream of the roasting spirit was enough of a shock to bring him back to consciousness. He coughed, panting heavily as his sore, aching lungs took in greedy gulps of air.

From the corner of the room, Lucifer laughed, amusement dancing across his features. "So close," he cooed darkly once his chuckles subsided.

Sam ignored him in favor of Dean's concern. His elder brother ran gentle fingers over the hand shaped bruise forming on Sam's neck, asking him several times if he was okay.

"My shoulder hurts, but other than that I'm alright," Sam reassured, allowing Dean to help him to his feet. He was a little dizzy and winded, but he'd be alright.

Once the brothers reached their hotel, Dean had insisted Sam got the first shower. The heat would help his sore shoulder, he had said, and Sam was in no condition to argue as Dean left to go get them some food.

Sam turned on the shower, letting the water get hot as he gingerly pulled off his clothes. Lucifer stood beside him, observing their reflections with mild interest as Sam tried to ignore him. Lucifer had become a nagging sort of presence; Sam never knew when he was going to show up and never knew what the Fallen Archangel was going to say to him once he did. Today he hadn't said much, but he refused to go away.

Maybe it was because Sam was having doubts.

"When are you going to quit pretending, Sammy?" Lucifer purred darkly and Sam swore, but didn't take his eyes off the man's reflection, almost as if looking at him directly would make it all too real.

"Get lost. You aren't real," Sam spat under his breath, the retort hardly audible over the sound of the running shower behind him.

"Oh Sammy, I know you better than you know yourself, remember? I know what you think, what you feel," he pushed, his fingers resting on Sam's injured shoulder, making him wince as he met Sam's gaze in the mirror. "I know you don't believe in any of this anymore."

"Shut up."

Sam turned away from the mirror and reached for the shower curtain, but Lucifer was there first, and Sam withdrew before he touched the not real Archangel.

"Sam," Lucifer insisted, stepping closer and closer until he had Sam pinned to the counter. Sam looked up, refusing to meet those horrible, sadistic eyes. Lucifer grabbed his jaw, fingers playing over the bruise marks he found there as he leaned forward, whispering darkly into Sam's ear, "Let's not play these games, hm? Tell me the truth."

"You aren't-,"

"The truth!" Lucifer growled, and Sam, terrified and crippled with memories of Hell, caved under that tone that had commanded him so many times before.

"I know the truth," he spoke somewhere between a broken whisper and a sob.

"Tell me, Sammy," the Devil commanded.

Sam hated it when Lucifer called him Sammy, it was another thing he had taken from him, the association of good with Dean's pet name for him, once holding so much love and tenderness, now the name only reminded him of agony, haunting him like so many other things.

"The truth," he whispered and Lucifer grinned. "None of this is real, and if it is, I don't have a right to it anyway."

"Why?"

Always pushing, always demanding more, always bending until he broke. Lucifer truly was a master at such things.

"Because," Sam choked out, memories of everything he had ever done wrong wracking his body with shame, guilt and self-loathing. Oh the truth? Sam wasn't okay, and he never would be. Sam Winchester was not who he had once been, he was not happy, he was not sane, he did not believe, he did not have hope. All he had was regret, guilt, and visions of his own torment, something that both mortified him and appeased his conscious, because he was a monster, and he deserved it.

Right?

"Right, now tell me out loud, Sam," the smaller figure demanded, and Sam was vaguely aware of Dean's voice on the other side of the door.

"I killed innocent people, everyone I love dies, everything I care for turns to ash at my fingertips," Sam spoke with pain and regret thick in his voice, and it hurt to say these things out loud.

"Tell me your sins," Lucifer commanded once again, and Sam was familiar with that, as Lucifer had demanded these things of him before, only with more physical pain.

"I'm a freak, a monster," Sam replied, and really it was more of a habit now, but the truth to him none the less. "I've killed innocent people, people who did nothing to me. I consorted with demons and I liked it. I'm a wrathful, proud, gluttonous monster, who only hurts."

Lucifer purred at the words and Sam relaxed, not having realized that he had gone tense under the Devil's touches. Sam wanted to make it stop, but all he did was shove the Devil away just as Dean broke open the motel door and wrapped Sam in his arms. Sam hadn't realized he was crying, and he figured this must've been what Dean meant when he said the other shoe would drop, the time when the truth sprang from the lies, when Dean found out just how messed up he was.

And Sam was disgusted with himself for taking comfort in Dean's embrace as he slid to warm tiled floor, the heat of the shower's steam melting them together. Dean held him, hushing him and Sam became aware that he was virtually screaming apologies. Who was he, for he certainly wasn't the man who crawled into his brother's arms and lost his grip on himself.

In that moment, it was too much. Everything hurt; his heart, his mind, and even his very soul. All of them sang with pain, lighting him up from the inside out until he was sure all his guilt and inner hatred toward himself was tangible in the air. This only made him feel more pathetic, adding to another layer of all the fucked up things that defined Sam Winchester.

"It's going to be okay Sam," Dean whispered in his ear, "It's going to be okay."

Only it wasn't.

Dean had believed it at the time, was so sure Sam was going to be okay after they had talked, after Dean had tried to soothe his baby brother's aching soul and put him to sleep by petting his hair. He knew now that he had been wrong.

As he held Sam's dead body in his arms, not crying, not moving and finally, truly alone, he knew now that he should have fought, that he should have tried harder, that he should have made Sam believe, that he should have listened. Now he was dead inside, not aching, not hurting, just numb and cold with shock and disbelief.

And he wished, with Sam's blood-covered, cold corpse in his hands, more than anything, that he had told Sam he loved him. It was then that Dean began to sob over the loss of the only thing he had left, of the one person he had truly cared for more than life itself.

In the depths of Hell, Sam Winchester cried out in agony as the Devil himself ripped away at his flesh, his head forever screaming with the pain of the bullet he had buried in his brain.


End file.
